


Turn Me On

by Pandir (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Non Consensual, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Underage Character in Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Pandir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave had been pretty young when Bro had first taken him to a strip club, but there was no way that he'd ever forget that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Me On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrokoRobin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrokoRobin/gifts).



> This is a Birthday gift for Calvindile! <3  
> Dedicated to our beautiful Dave headcanons. 
> 
> Song to go with this fic: Turn Me On by David Guetta.
> 
> (I'm not even sorry.)

The music was muffled in the dressing room. It wasn’t exactly what anyone would call quiet, but it helped coming down and focusing before he got ready, which was the most important thing. He couldn’t perform on stage without the right mindset.

Dave had been hanging out at the bar until now, giving TZ a helping hand - which meant he’d been watching her work while keeping her occupied by talking about rad things and philosophizing over cocktail names. So he already knew there was a real crowd tonight at the club. The mood was good, so pleasing them would be a piece of cake – he could aim for high tips tonight.

Lazily, Dave wriggled his way out of his tight pants and briefs, kicked them aside as he got up to search the other heap of clothes for his favourite ironic pink kitty thong. As he put it on, he turned to the mirror to examine the lanky young man staring back at him.

Lanky, he thought, as he watched himself slowly run his hand over the lean muscles of his upper arm, not scrawny.

For most of his life, he’d been an awkwardly tall and thin boy who’s limps always seemed to get in his own way, and his slouching posture had only added up to the impression. Bro had been teasing him constantly about it, but guess what, Dave Strider has grown out of his awkward-teenager-phase. He might not have Bro’s broad shoulders and his defined muscles - he’d never look like that - but there was nothing gangly about him anymore. He had a lean body with a good posture and, what was more, he knew how to move it, how to use it, how to put on a show that would make everybody in a room fall for him.

His reflection grinned back at him when he pulled the cord of his thong to let it twang back in place. This is what they would be getting tonight, and they’d love it.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder sometimes if Bro had ever noticed that his little brother had changed and wasn’t a kid anymore. The worst part about that was how impossible it was to tell how much the man knew. Dave had never made a secret out of his nightly activities, but Bro didn’t ask any questions, so he never outright told him, which meant they never talked about it.

It was probably time to face the fact that his bro was either mostly clueless (which was not very likely) or he just didn’t care (which actually sounded way too plausible in Dave’s mind). Yet even though he wasn’t even living at Bro’s place anymore and they hadn’t seen each other for a rather long time, he couldn’t help to half expect Bro waltzing in on one of shows one night, giving him an acknowledging nod, or a casual fistbump afterwards. Maybe that was why Dave sometimes couldn’t get rid of the feeling that his bro might be in the crowd, watching him, and the thought always made him a lot more self-aware, but also strangely turned on, which made him perform even better.

Dave suddenly didn’t feel like looking at some stupid douchebag in a Hello Kitty thong anymore and he let himself drop into his chair next to the dressing table he only used to get his hair right. He didn’t prepare much, except for this moment of quiet right before his show.

Time to get in the right mindset. Full house meant extra cash, so he’d better focus.

 

Dave closed his eyes.

 

The funny thing was that he wasn’t even sure when it all had started. It might have been right after his tenth birthday, but that was just a guess. Dave wasn’t good at remembering dates, and even if the memories had burned themselves into his mind, it was always hard to tell their order. The time that he’d been living with Bro just sort of blurred together, a series of incidents that Dave didn’t really grasp and remained strange to him in a way - but as obscure his Bro’s actions still seemed to him, they had always left a lasting impact.

So Dave might not know exactly when or how this particular evening had taken place, but he still remembered very vividly how it had made him _feel_.

 

It had started out pretty ordinary - Dave had been sitting on the futon in Bro’s room, watching crappy cartoons and eating Doritos he’d bought on his way back from school.

Of course, he’d been playing a risky game there. Bro didn’t seem to be home, but you could never be sure about that and watching TV in Bro’s territory meant that his Doritos were at stake. The only chance he had was to appear as cool and apathetic as possible, so Dave was lying lazily on his back, crunching his chips and spreading crumbs all over his shirt, when a loud noise made him jump into a sitting position and nearly choke on a chip.

When he coughed and turned around, he saw that Bro was right behind him all of a sudden and had been busy closing the chest he used to transport Lil’Cal when he was having a gig.

“Hey, sup”, Dave said, because after his almost heart attack, it made no sense to feign ignorance anymore anyway. It was the first time he’d seen his Bro since yesterday, probably because Bro had been training or been out to buy something rad for his marionettes or whatever cool things a guy could be doing all day. It didn’t really matter, Bro just vanished and came back whenever he felt like and Dave did, too. They were cool like that.

Bro gave a glance at the screen. “Oh wow, that sure has to be one of the shittiest things that have ever had the dubious privilege to be aired.”

“Yeah”, Dave agreed, pleased that his bro approved of his choices, until he noticed that Bro had flashstepped to his side and was now holding Dave’s bag of Doritos.

“Those were mine, you asshole”, the boy protested, but Bro just put another handful of chips into his mouth and threw empty bag on Dave’s lap.

“Watch your stuff if you want to keep it, kid.”

Dave shoved the piece of waste to the floor, pulled his legs up and considered ordering some take-out when Bro was gone, just to get back at him. He had tried to make a point of ignoring Bro, who picked up the chest and made for the door, when he said two casual words that made Dave’s heart skip:

“You coming?”

 

It was the very first time Bro had ever taken him along.

Legally, Dave probably shouldn’t have been in that club, especially at that time of the night, but he was with Bro Strider, so nobody asked questions. It was an elevating feeling, he felt like a VIP, only better, because his bro actually thought it was cool to have him here and let him watch his gig.

Still, it had been pretty intimidating. Dave was by the youngest person in the whole room and he didn’t dare to venture into the dancing crowd, so he just stood next to the turntables on the small stage, his hands in his pockets, watching the people moving through the changing light that flickered to the beat.

Everyone could see him were he was standing, but he was next to Bro who was about to start his show, so nobody was paying attention to the boy on the sidelines.

Essentially, Bro was just rapping and putting on some sick beats to accompany it, which could have been cool as hell, but instead of doing it himself, he did it by using a puppet, which made it even cooler. Cal was flapping his mouth, spitting rhymes and seemed even to operate the turntables, while Bro was assisting him here and there.

Dave knew that Bro’s puppeteering skills were even more of the hook than his rapping, but it was still odd to see them work as a team with Cal moving practically on his own.

He never learned whether this act was pretty popular, if there was actually a demand for puppet rappers or whether Bro actually did it for the money or just for fun, but it didn’t matter – watching Bro perform was coolest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

After a few puppet raps, Bro – or rather, Cal – was laying on some beats to dance to and Dave, still observing, just nodded his head slightly to the rhythm. That was when Bro looked at him, for the first time since he’d started the show, and gave him a short nod and a gesture towards the table.

Dave didn’t move an inch. There was no way he was going to try his hands on the records, now, in the middle of a club, when everyone was watching and _listening_ , and he wasn’t even nearly as good as Bro. The boy shook his head slightly, burying his hands even deeper in his pocket and turned away to look somewhere else, trying his best not to bite his lip. Yes, he was pussying out here, but just the thought of going up to the table made his stomach turn. He didn’t care if taking him to the club was some kind of challenge, everything was a kind of challenge with Bro, but this time, he just couldn’t do it.

And for a moment, it actually seemed like Bro had let him off the hook, because Cal had started rapping again. Then he caused Dave to almost jump out of his skin when Cal appeared right beside him, announcing: “Your turn, kiddo. Spit some rhymes.”

Dave looked at the faces staring up to him, and the deafening beat in his ear made him feel strangely remote from it all. His mouth was completely dry and he was glad he was wearing his shades, because he felt like a deer in the headlight. The thumping noise in his ears was drowning him, but there was no chickening out this time, Bro kept the beat steady and waited.

Dave’s hands in his pockets felt sweaty and he could barely breath, but somehow, he managed to open his mouth and make a noise. Yet the words kept slipping away until he didn’t even know anymore what he had started mumbling and everything that came out were painfully stuttered syllables that didn’t even make sense. Dave immediately pressed his lips shut in horror. His face felt hot and his eyes were stinging - he was sure that he heard laughter somewhere in the crowd, but he was frozen to the spot, helplessly living through the worst seconds of his life.

Still, he had at least tried, and failed miserably, so Bro had mercy and released him, diverting the attention again.

 

Thankfully, Bro never lost a word about that incident, but it wasn’t as easy to get over the shame. Every night when Bro went on a gig, Dave wished that he could accompany him again, instead of staying home like the fraidy cat that he was, because just knew Bro would want him to perform again. Even though he hadn’t shown with any word or sign that he was disappointed, Dave _knew_ he expected him to be able to overcome his fears.

The problem was that Dave was now legitimately scared shitless of stages, which made everything ten times worse – just imagining that he was standing in front of spectators when he was practicing his rapping in his own room made him stutter, lose his train of thoughts and falter.

It took him years to finally come up with the courage to face that challenge - although it wasn’t exactly what Dave’d call courage, more a feeling of inevitability and the urge to just get it over with.

 

One evening, when he noticed that Bro was getting ready by packing some of his gear, Dave simply got up from the couch and walked to the door as casually as possible, indicating that he was coming with him. Bro didn’t say anything about it, but he let the boy tag along and even gave him some records to carry.  
“Where’s Cal?”, Dave  asked, when he noticed that the chest was missing.

“Nothing big tonight. Only putting on some records in a strip club.”

That managed to take Dave’s mind away from his certain failure. Of course, Bro would be the kind of guy who didn’t give two shits whether he was hanging out in a strip club or at a teen disco.

He wasn’t sure if he’d been 13 or 14 at that time, but at that moment, he’d felt so fucking grown up, he was making himself sit taller in his seat the whole drive. Also, DJing didn’t sound too bad – he could probably do that, if Bro wanted him to. Dave badly regretted that he hadn’t kicked his own ass earlier, because he was suddenly very aware of all the awesome stuff he’d been missing out on.

 

The club was very different compared to the last one and compared to his expectation. It was more of an ordinary bar, a bit gloomy maybe, as it was lit with blue and pink neon lights. There were two small round stages in the centre. There wasn’t much of a crowd, most people were sitting at the large bar, some on the chairs at the tables scattered across the room, or they were standing in the back, watching and sipping their drink. Most of them were men, although Dave saw a handful of women sitting near the stage. There were no teenagers in this club, and only two guys swaying to the music in a corner that Dave presumed was supposed to be a small dance floor.

The boy felt rather out of place and made sure that he was staying close to Bro as he made his way to the DJ table. It was in a corner, opposing the bar and with a good view on the stage.

No one seemed to take much notice of him, so Dave was just kind of standing there, not knowing where to look. Of course he was excited, but not sure how to behave to not be completely awkward. He settled for casually eyeing the pole in the middle of the nearer stage, while Bro was getting ready.

“Get yourself a seat, if you wanna watch the show, kiddo”, came the short instruction, before Bro announced for the rest of the room that the show was about to begin and put on a song to set the mood. So Dave ventured forth to grab a chair and sit down right beside the DJ table, and watched.

It somehow came to no big surprise to him to discover that the strippers were male – he was actually kind of thankful for it, because he was pretty sure that naked women would have made him feel a lot more uncomfortable.

Of course, he’d seen strippers before, on video, but seeing them live in a room full of strangers was something very different. Dave felt his face heat when the two guys that had been slowly dancing on their stages started losing their clothes, until they were wearing nothing more than very revealing thongs and black boots. They were working their bodies against the poles or putting on a little show of rotating hips for the people sitting closest to the stage, and Dave was hypnotized by the muscles moving beneath the skin, the hands running teasingly over the abs and the thighs and each accentuated jerk of the hips to the thumping bass of the song.

It wasn’t all that erotic, though - it was kind of like in a porn movie, some artificial formula that he felt like he’d already seen a billion times before. It was the amount of self-confidence displayed in every movement of the strippers that really had Dave’s attention. For the whole act, he just sat there in his corner, where no one took notice much of him, and watched, transfixed.

As the evening progressed, the air in the room was getting heavier and the voices louder, there was yelling and whistling whenever someone was on stage, especially as one of the spectators just hopped on there for fun and shook his ass to everyone’s amusement.

Bro adjusted the music to the mood, but was basically having a mostly chill time behind his table. Only occasionally, someone would come up to him to exchange a few words about the program or to supply him with something to drink. Dave did get a few questioning looks, but apparently they’d decided to ignore his presence.

All in all, nothing much happened and Dave was already getting a bit tired, lulled in by the sticky air and the noise, when some guy on the dance floor yelled loud enough that everyone in the room would here him: “Hey DJ, is that all you got?”

As an answer, Bro slowed the beat down and casually let his hand brush the rim of shirt up, slowly revealing his stomach.

“Depends on what you wanna pay, bro.”

There was some laughing and whistling, and someone shouted: “Five for the shirt!”

Dave wasn’t even sure if that was something that usually happened, it probably might as well been the first time. The thing with Bro was that Dave was pretty sure he wasn’t even able to feel shame or embarrassment; he just did whatever the hell he wanted.

Of course, Bro had to be a horrible tease and took his sweet time. He left his shirt just pulled up to the chest, let his muscles work a little when he moved his hips as if it was no big deal, until another person offered ten dollars. Then, in what couldn’t be more than a split of a second, Bro somehow managed to lose his shirt without removing his hat, and threw it in the general direction of whoever had been shouting and the crowd went wild.

 The exclamation “Twenty bucks if you put on a show!” was followed by approving and cheering noises, and Bro complied by putting on a slower song.

Dave was sure that he was the only one in the room who noticed how clichéd and ironic the choice was, just like he noticed the grin, as Bro tucked the brim of his hat and positioned himself in front of the DJ table.

This was just one of Bro’s ironic acts that he could deliver so completely sincere that they served no actual purpose but his own amusement, and Dave was the only one who understood that - or at least he thought he kind of got it. There was no way to ever tell what was going on in someone’s head who’s made an art of messing with people by obscuring everything by at least ten layers of irony.

Either way, it was obvious that Bro was mostly enjoying himself, because when did he not enjoy being a total dick. He was already playing everyone in the room by making a big show of opening his belt, only to then stop undressing and touch his bare chest instead, grabbing his crotch with the other hand and slowly rolling his hips to meet it.

Now, Dave really felt uncomfortably hot. He never got completely used to Bro jerking off to some weird shit on the internet or his own fucking puppets no matter whether Dave was around or not, so he did what he always did – he tried to look away and only caught short glances of what was going on.

As far as he noticed, Bro even unzipped his pant and showed off his already visible erection before he announced that the next act was starting, but he didn’t bother to dress when he returned to his working place, maybe as a promise that there’d be a part two afterwards.

 

By now, Dave didn’t really feel like watching the show anymore, he felt more like he needed a moment to get his mind free of what just had happened, so he made his way to the bar. The barman, a lean guy in a muscle shirt and with a whole lot of ear piercings, raised an eyebrow at him. 

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen”, Dave said as casual as possible, and when the barman wasn’t buying it, he added, “I just want a coke.”

The barman still didn’t appear to be very convinced.

“Okay, listen, kid-…”

“I’m with the DJ”, the boy interrupted him. “He’s my bro.”

That seemed to work, because the man shrugged and got a glass from the shelf.

 

“Oh, you’re with Strider?”, another person sitting at the bar beside Dave joined in.

Dave looked up at a middle-aged guy with dark hair and a stubbly beard. 

“Yeah”, he said, not without a bit of pride in his voice.

There was a pause while the man examined him closely and Dave started to feel uncomfortable, because he knew it was probably obvious that he was way too young to even be here.

“You know what?”, he announced eventually, “I’d pay fifty bucks to see you on stage.”

This wasn’t even close to anything Dave had expected. He couldn’t even say what he was thinking at that moment, there were so many thoughts flashing through his mind – _wouldn’t it be so cool to actually pull this off, Bro’d sure be impressed, fuck no what if you look like an idiot up there, but wow fifty bucks, really, that is a lot right, more than what they offered Bro_ – but somehow, he managed to get out a not too agitated “ok, cool”.

“Well, then hurry up, as long as the stage is free.”

There was some laughter and other urging remarks, but they didn’t register anymore. Dave looked at the stage. He couldn’t get out of this now, and it was better get it over with before Bro noticed what was going on. _It’s just a joke_ , he told himself. _You just cash in those fifty dollars and you’ll laugh about it with Bro later._

 

His legs seemed to move on his own as he made his way through the room, slaloming around the chairs and people, and climbed up the stage. The talking suddenly subsided as everyone’s attention turned to him, the boy who was standing awkwardly on the stage, trying his best not to panic.

Dave took a deep breath. He could dance, at least a bit - he’d in fact spent some hours in front of the mirror to practice his sweet moves.

_Come on. Just do something, anything._

It made him sick to look at all these expectant faces, so he closed his eyes and tried to focus on the music. At least he didn’t feel like throwing up anymore.

Someone yelled “Strip!”, and people started picking it up, until they were chanting it.

Dave’s heartbeat was racing, but he wasn’t just scared – he felt kind of thrilled. They wanted him here, hell, the guy at the bar had even offered fifty dollars to see him. He was the fucking star of the show right now, if he didn’t blow it.

A bit mechanically, Dave got hold of the brim of his shirt and pulled it up. He had never been so aware of exposed skin, but now he could swear he _felt_ the staring gazes on his revealed chest and stomach. Before he could lose his nerve, Dave pulled the shirt over his head and let it drop to the wooden floor.

His reward was cheering and whistling, and although they were probably mostly amused by his awkwardness, Dave felt this elevating feeling in his chest. He remembered Bro’s grin, when he’d been in complete control of the crowd, and he had to keep himself from glancing over to the DJ table.

His mouth was suddenly painfully dry.

 _Don’t think._ _You can do that._

When he hesitatingly moved his hands to up to the brim of his (ironic) tight hipster pants, he noticed that the music changed. The song transitioned into a slow, prominent rhythm that vibrated in his chest. Even if Dave hadn’t known that it was Bro at the beat machine, he’d recognized Bro’s signature in the beat he was providing him. He knew Bro’s style by heart - it was the sound Dave’d been listening to when he was lying in his bed at night ever since he could remember.

It was more than weird to oblige to it now, to let his body move slowly to the rhythm, but once he’d started moving, it became a lot easier. His fingers brushed over his hips and Dave jerked a little at how cold they felt on his hot skin, as he hesitatingly let them trail upward. He didn’t think much anymore, he just let himself follow the changing beat, and the feeling of his own hand on his skin was oddly foreign to him.

When he tried open his pants with the other hand, he noticed his fingers were shaking, so he let his hips rotate in what he hoped was at least distracting in any way to buy some time.

The worst part about the slow beat guiding his hand in slow circles over his chest was that he was getting turned on, and that his nervousness was exposed in front of all these people wasn’t helping.

Dave bit his lip when he opened his zipper, painfully aware that now everyone would see that he was getting hard already, but he remembered that it was okay, _Bro_ _had done that, too, just go through with it._

 

There were shouts, urging him to lose the pants, and Dave complied by pulling them from his hips, although he didn’t know how to actually take them off. He was so awfully hard now, fully aware that everyone could see his red briefs, and that he was just a scrawny boy with an awkward boner who couldn’t even get out of his pants because he feared that his legs wouldn’t support him.

He forced himself to think of Bro’s performance, to recall how he’d been doing it, and almost unconsciously, Dave let his hand brush over his thigh, mimicking Bro’s movement, as he tentatively touched his dick. He had to bite his lip hard not to moan, but couldn’t suppress a half-surprised small noise.

His legs were trembling, yet before he knew what he was doing, he was squeezing harder, just like Bro did. He was so fucking embarrassed, but he couldn’t stop, even when his legs were about to give in and he had kneel down so he wouldn’t have to be scared of falling from the stage.

The beat was getting faster, more demanding, and Dave found himself helplessly moving his hips to meet the pressure in a way that wasn't much of a seductive hip rolling, more a desperate jerking, as the rhythm sped up, and with a strangled moan, Dave came in his pants. His head was spinning and it took him a moment to realize where he was and that the noise around him was the crowd applauding for his performance. _For getting off on stage._

Dave got up, grabbed his clothes and staggered on wobbly legs to the edge of the stage. His fingers were aching were he’d been biting them too hard, but he was only vaguely aware of the pain.

Someone helped him get down from the stage – Dave recognized the man that had offered him the money, as he gave him a pat on the back and handed him some notes that were supposedly fifty dollars. Dave just grabbed them and made his way to the restrooms.

The music had transitioned to another song.

 

Dave barely remembered getting dressed again, the only thing he did remember was sitting on a toilet seat for what could have been an hour for all he knew, the money still in his left hand.

It was hard to process what happened, but they had loved it. He had somehow survived this whole thing without making a fool of himself. Still, he didn’t feel really happy about it, only strangely distant, as if he was floating and unable to come down. So he just stared blankly at the scribbles on the toilet walls for what could have been an eternity, until reality came slowly creeping back and he felt horribly tired.

 

When he came into the bar again, there were only few people left. Dave barely paid attention to the dancer on stage, he just wanted to find Bro and leave, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. That brought him back to senses. 

The fear that Bro might have left without him easily overshadowed everything, even his anxiety to face his bro after what just had happened. Dave asked the guy at the bar, who told him the DJ had left, and hurried to the door without answering the question whether he wanted to call a cab. 

Outside, the air was clear and cold, and it took Dave a moment to adjust his eyes to the gloomy light of the distant streetlamps. For a few heartbeats, he looked up and down that empty street, until he saw Bro’s car and immediately jumped out of his skin as someone tapped his back.

“You certainly took your sweet time on the toilet.”

“Fuck, Bro!”, Dave yelled, although he was way too relieved to be angry at him for playing his fucking mindgames. Bro glance at the money in Dave’s hand.

“Not bad, but I’d say you’re selling yourself under your worth, lil’ man.” He gave him a pat on the head, and his gloved hand briefly brushed Dave’s hair.

“Let's get moving. Come, kiddo.”

 

 

And with a soft noise, muffled by the hand on his mouth, Dave came, just like he always did. Unable to stop himself, he continued to thrust into his hand with desperate jerks of his hips, his breath hitching in his throat, even though his erratic, needy thrusts were not getting him anywhere now. He had to force himself to take a deep breath and slow down, allowing himself a few strokes to come down from his orgasm, but he didn’t really feel it anymore.

So he leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling and one hand resting limply on his thigh, the other on his stomach, and listened to his own breathing.

When he’d finally gotten a job here when he turned sixteen, he figured out he needed to jerk off before going on stage, and this was what his mind always came up with. After he’d eventually moved out of Bro’s apartment to live with Rose – she didn’t mind his coming home late, when she could wake him up in the morning providing him with aspirin and toast with a helping of sarcastic remarks, so everybody won – the whole thing had sort of become a ritual. He tried not to think to hard about it.

His mind had reached a strangely blank state, which was good, because that countered the stage fright. As Dave put on his baggy pants and his wide red hoodie jacket over the thong and his short top, he felt perfectly calm. 

On his way to the door, he glanced in the mirror. 

Red eyes stared blankly back at him and Dave quickly put on his shades before he gave his reflection an approving nod.

Just a regular coolkid about to rock the stage.


End file.
